


do not fall

by starstrung



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Biobed sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock walks into an ambush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do not fall

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Kathy](http://anaeolist.tumblr.com/) for being my spones inspiration.  
> Translation in Chinese available [here](http://www.movietvslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=133664&extra=page%3D1%26filter%3Dtypeid%26typeid%3D26%26typeid%3D26) thanks to [WishToBeWatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WishToBeWatson/pseuds/WishToBeWatson)!

They walk straight into an ambush.

When Spock reviews his performance for that mission, he doesn’t understand what he could have done better. He utilized all his resources efficiently. He made sure to scope out the area suitably before allowing the landing party to proceed. He had no way of knowing that there were hidden passageways lining the old building they were investigating. He even made sure to deliver periodic updates to the ship. In fact, he is doing exactly this when an unseen enemy shoots the communicator out of his hand.

The ensuing battle is chaotic, but Spock holds together their party despite that. They find out where the enemies are shooting from, and retaliate. Spock makes sure to draw the enemy fire and take most of it, so that his teammates will remain unhurt.

When they finally make it out of the building and out into the open, he has one of the lieutenants contact the ship. If were not so distracted by the fascinating fuzzy outlines of his hands, he would have registered the panic in her voice as she asks for them to be beamed up, a medical team waiting.

Now in sickbay, he sits on a biobed, pant legs rolled up to his knees to treat the bleeding cuts there. Somewhere between the transporter room and sickbay, someone had also seen fit to remove the tattered remains of his shirt.

While he has been here, Spock has reviewed every single element of his performance, from the time they beamed down to the time they were beamed up. He has concluded that he acted to the best of his abilities, that every step was perfectly reasoned, and that the outcome of the mission was the best that could be expected.

So he doesn’t understand why McCoy will not look at him.

The injuries sustained by the rest of the crew on their landing party barely merit a visit to sickbay. The worst of their wounds is a cracked rib, and one of the nurses fixes that in the span of a second. So, very quickly, Spock is left alone in the relatively empty sickbay with a doctor who seems to be under the impression that he can heal his patient without once actually looking at him.

Spock is by no means an expert at reading human emotion, but this does alert him that something may be wrong.

Luckily, McCoy breaks the silence first. “Want to tell me why you came out looking like some giant cat’s scratch post?”

Spock tries to imagine what he must look like. He remembers enemy gunfire tearing through his clothes and then his skin. The air had been thick with the heat from their phasers and the acrid smell of burnt plastic. He supposes the lacerations must resemble scratches in a small way. Still, he finds McCoy’s description bizarre.

He opens his mouth to reply but all that emerges is a rough rasp of sound, all that is left of his voice after yelling commands at the landing party. A strange expression passes briefly over McCoy’s face. He wordlessly passes Spock a cup of water which he gulps down, not realizing how thirsty he was until this moment. He finished drinking and catches McCoy staring at him. Spock has his cup quickly snatched away.

McCoy clears his throat. “Well?” he asks gruffly. His arms are crossed.

“As I have the strongest constitution due to my Vulcan physiology, it was logical for me to take the brunt of the enemy’s attack,” Spock explains. “Because of this, our team was able to escape.”

“ _Escape_?” McCoy nearly shouts. “Good God man, you were practically _carried_ to sickbay.”

Thinking back, Spock cannot quite remember the journey from the transporter room to sickbay. But he is almost certain that McCoy is exaggerating. “What would you have me do differently?” he challenges.

“Don’t put yourself in danger on purpose!” McCoy yells. His voice echoes and amplifies itself in sickbay. “You had an entire security detail with you. Let them do their _job_.”

Spock looks at McCoy, refusing to back down. “You would have me put others in danger to protect myself? I am responsible for their safe return.”

“Jumping in front of a gun isn’t my idea of _responsible_ , Spock,” McCoy growls. He looks threatening, almost wild. Then he sighs, becoming calm once more, and rubs at the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. “Aw, hell. You’re not going to listen to me. Why would you?”

The rest of the treatment is conducted in silence. When McCoy is finished, Spock leaves, feeling strangely bereft. He goes to sleep almost immediately upon returning to his quarters, too weary to even conduct his customary night meditation.

-

Upon awaking, Spock finds that McCoy has assigned him medical leave and has restricted him from reporting to the bridge for his shift. He sits up slowly in bed, feeling like a pack of sehlats pounded him in his sleep, and thinks about what he should do. He eventually decides to take breakfast in the mess hall like usual, and struggles out of bed.

The hall is relatively empty, it still being quite early. He moves slowly as he gathers up a tray of food, his limbs still feeling stiff.

“Good morning,” a voice says. Spock turns to see a drowsy McCoy, whose eyes seem barely open. He notices that the first thing to go on the Doctor’s tray is a large cup of coffee.

Spock nods in reply, and moves away to go look for a table.

McCoy’s voice stops him. “Need any painkillers?” he asks. He seems marginally more awake now, having taken a few sips of his coffee. His eyes roam over Spock, as if to check him over. He probably notices how wooden Spock’s movements are.

“I do not require any,” Spock answers.

McCoy snorts. “Of course not.” He takes his tray of food and leaves the mess hall, presumably to finish eating breakfast in his office.

Spock goes to sit on one of the empty tables. He is joined shortly by Uhura, who gives him a small greeting before continuing to eat in silence, which he is grateful for. He has had enough baffling conversations with humans today, even though he has only been awake for a short period of time.

“Are you feeling better, sir?” Uhura asks as he stands up to leave, having finished eating.

Spock nods. “I am, thank you.” Uhura looks visibly relieved.

“That’s good,” she tells him. “When your communications got cut off so suddenly, we were all worried. Especially Doctor McCoy.”

Spock examines her closely but from what he can tell, Uhura is telling the truth. “He was?”

She looks surprised. “Of course. He insisted on being the one to wait in the transporter room for you to come back so he could take you to sickbay himself. Don’t you remember?”

 Spock shakes his head. Uhura looks like she is about to say something, but stops herself, a small smile on her face.

As he walks back to his quarters, he thinks about McCoy’s demeanor back in sickbay. Was it possible that his aggressiveness and harsh behavior stemmed from his worry for his wellbeing? Spock had no idea that his safety had such a dire effect on McCoy’s emotional state.

It is something to consider.

-

Back in his quarters, Spock pulls up security footage from yesterday, as his own memories of that day are not to be trusted. Spock watches himself as he and the landing party appears on the transporter pad. As soon as he materializes, his knees buckle. To Spock’s surprise, he is caught by McCoy, who steps forward and wraps an arm around Spock’s waist, supporting him.

From the angle that the footage was taken at, Spock cannot see his own expression. However, he can see McCoy’s perfectly. It is the same one he glimpsed for only a moment back in sickbay – distressed, almost anguished. McCoy readjusts his hold on Spock’s waist, gripping him tighter and moving Spock’s arm so that it is slung over his shoulders. The hand that isn’t wrapped around Spock’s waist circles around Spock’s wrist.

“Let’s get him to sickbay!” McCoy shouts. He and his medical team move out of view and Spock stops the holovid. He feels overwhelmed. He searches his mind for any memory of this, but he can’t remember. Spock examines his wrist, but can find no sign that it ever happened. He feels strangely cold, like he has lost something.

Until now, his only interactions with McCoy have almost verged on hostile. Spock considers McCoy a necessary hardship, since he cannot deny that the man is one of the most skilled surgeons in the fleet. The tenderness with which McCoy handled him, however, forces him to reevaluate this. McCoy could have easily called for a stretcher. Spock finds himself wanting to know more, but is unsure how to ask.

Unable to dwell on it further, he spends the rest of his day off at the gym stretching out his stiff muscles.

-

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in here,” McCoy says by way of greeting, as Spock walks into sickbay.

“I am here for my vaccine,” Spock tells McCoy. He does not say that he has had the Doctor on his mind more often than he would like. The events from the security footage seem imprinted onto the visual centers of his brain, the sight of McCoy supporting his weight with sure hands still haunting him. Spock sees that McCoy’s hands are currently covered with sanitary gloves, and he immediately stops himself from feeling disappointment.

McCoy nods. He reaches out and pulls Spock slightly to the side. Spock is confused but allows himself to be moved, and then realizes that he had been blocking the entrance. Two medical officers, looking extremely busy, pass by. They are carrying medical supplies.

Spock looks around sickbay and sees that it is extremely busy. There is a virus going around the ship, picked up from some traders on a planet that they visited three days ago. The medical division is going through the tedious affair of issuing vaccines to each crewmember. There are no biobeds that are not full, either with a crewmember getting their vaccine, or a more unfortunate crewmember that did not get the vaccine in time and is being kept under a quarantine partition field.

McCoy seems to notice this as well, and sighs.

“Come on, there’ll be more room in the medical lab. Your vaccine is over there anyway,” McCoy says.

They walk down the short length of hallway towards the medical lab, which is thankfully nearly empty. McCoy leads Spock to one of the back rooms which are filled with storage freezers.

“Sit down over there,” McCoy tells him, pointing towards a stool. Spock takes a seat and watches as McCoy opens one of the freezers and searches.

“We had to make a vaccine especially for you,” McCoy explains. “One of the components in the regular vaccine would harden your green blood if we tried it on you. Took a few tries but we finally were able to make something that worked. Found it.” McCoy produces a vial, waving it triumphantly. “One hundred percent hobgoblin friendly.”

Spock eyes the vial with apprehension. “Perhaps you should wait before administering it until more tests are done.”

McCoy bristles. “Now, who’s the doctor here? I’ve run every test imaginable on this vaccine myself. It’s perfectly fine.”

He considers it. He may have many more uncertainties considering the Doctor than he had before, but if there’s anything that he does not question, it is McCoy’s ability. Spock tilts his head, baring the side of his neck for the hypospray.

“Good,” McCoy says, and begins preparing the vaccine. “So tell me, have you been keeping your head down? I noticed you stopped being a frequent visitor to sickbay, not that I’m complaining.”

Spock wishes that the Doctor did not have such a predilection for chatter. He is still unsure about the events of that day, even after numerous hours in meditation.

“After some thought, I concluded that you were right,” Spock tells him. McCoy’s fingers pause on the hypospray as he’s loading it. It is brief, something that Spock only notices because he is watching McCoy’s hands.

McCoy clears his throat. “Did you now? Well, that’s not something I hear every day from you.” His ears are an interesting shade of pink. He steps forward and administers the hypospray. Spock cannot see the Doctor’s expression. To distract himself from the intrusive sensation of the hypospray, he stares ahead. McCoy’s chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm with each breath. His hip brushes against Spock’s knees.

Spock makes himself look away. “If I were to be incapacitated, my abilities as a commander would become obsolete and I would be a burden to my party. Your advice was sound.” He adds drily, “It seems you possess faculties of logic that, in some cases, may even surpass my own.”

After the hypospray is depleted, McCoy steps away quickly. Spock sees that he looks upset.

The Doctor sighs as he puts away the hypospray. “Look, Spock, that’s not why I told you to be less reckless. It wasn’t me being logical.”

“I fail to see what other reasons may have motivated you,” Spock replies.

McCoy looks angry. “Dammit, Spock. I’ve known you for two years, Spock. I think I’m allowed to care whether you show up to sickbay cut in ribbons or worse. You’re one of the smartest men I know, but sometimes it’s like talking to a wall.”

Spock stands up from the stool. “As I have received your vaccine, I see no point in continuing this conversation.” He moves towards the door.

“Hey, I’m not finished with you.” McCoy grabs his arm and Spock resists the urge to push him away.

“Unhand me,” Spock says. Despite his best attempts at passivity, a hint of anger still comes out in his voice, making it close to a snarl.

“Or what?” McCoy challenges, like he knows something that Spock does not.

“It is difficult to control myself when I speak with you,” Spock says through gritted teeth. He knows he should try to leave, but he does not move. He should distance himself, but he has grown weary of that particular tactic. He must see this through to the end.

“Maybe that’s the problem then,” McCoy says. He releases Spock and crosses his arms. “Say what you want to say.”

Spock does not know what he wants to say. But McCoy is expectant, waiting. He challenges everything that Spock has ever been taught, fills him with a need that he is afraid to acknowledge even to himself.

McCoy looks incredulous. He uncrosses his arms. “Spock, are you scared?”

“I am not _scared_ ,” Spock replies. He feels hot and cold at the same time, and wonders if he is having an adverse reaction to the vaccine.

He is startled when McCoy steps forward slowly. Spock feels rooted to the spot. “You are, aren’t you?” McCoy says. “You’re terrified of the thought that someone actually cares about you. Well, you know what, Spock? I care about you. You’re more than I can bear, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” McCoy blushes a little, but he does not back down, staring into Spock’s eyes like he’s trying to impress his sincerity upon him.

“You make it sound simple but it is not,” Spock says in a low voice. “My kind does not treat such feelings for each other lightly.”

“You think I’m treating this lightly?” McCoy asks angrily. His eyes flash, and before Spock can react, he grabs Spock by the front of his uniform shirt and kisses him.

Spock feels a heady rush of emotions, and all control he has over himself scatters under its wake. Something primal uncurls inside of him and he begins to kiss back. All he wants is to crush himself into this man. His mouth moves against McCoy’s with more force than finesse, but then the Doctor’s hand is at the back of his neck, guiding him, and Spock tries to describe the taste of him but he keeps having to start over because everything is distracting him. McCoy’s arm curls tenderly around his waist and it is too overwhelming.

Spock pushes McCoy away with more force than he intended. The Doctor’s back hits the freezer and he grunts. His eyes are wide and he breathes heavily. Spock’s eyes trail down to his mouth which is very pink and slightly wet. Spock’s tenuous hold on himself threatens to break.

“Leonard,” he says, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. McCoy’s eyes widen even more at the sound of his name.

“Did you hear something?” a voice says from the adjacent room.

They both turn towards the voice. Before they can be found, Spock walks out of the storage room, and nearly collides with a nurse, who looks surprised.

“Oh! Commander. I thought I heard something,” she says.

Spock shakes his head. “It is nothing.”

He leaves the lab, walks along the ship’s corridors, and doesn’t stop until he has put half the ship between himself and Doctor McCoy. Only then does he allow himself to acknowledge that McCoy was right.

He is scared.

-

Spock is on his knees. His hands are tied behind his back. The rough rope chafes the tender insides of his wrists. The dust in the air makes his eyes sting. He has a gun pressed to his back, where his shoulder blades meet. A gloved, thick-fingered hand dangles his communicator tauntingly in front of his face.

“Tell your Captain to give us all of your dilithium crystals or we blow up this village,” the rogue snarls.

-

This time, Spock remembers his trip from the transporter room to sickbay perfectly. Every jarring movement that the hover-stretcher makes sends another wave of agony over him until he has to go deep into himself just to avoid crying out in the hallway. He can still see the flashing red lights of the Enterprise even after he shuts his eyes.

Over the sound of people shouting and rushing to their stations, he hears a comforting, familiar sound. He realizes it’s a voice.

“Goddammit. Goddammit you damn hobgoblin. You’re a real piece of work, you know that? _Dammit_. You’re going to be okay, Spock. You’ll be okay.”

-

When Spock wakes up, he is in the surgery room in sickbay. As soon as he stirs, the lights become brighter. Through the window, he can see that sickbay looks deserted. He slowly maneuvers himself off the biobed.

“Get back on that bed, or I’ll sedate you.” McCoy walks in. He looks tired and, after he checks Spock’s vitals, increasingly angry. Spock watches him warily.

“I know what you wish to say,” Spock says, in an attempt to take control of the conversation.

McCoy does not seem to want to cooperate. He laughs bitterly. “Well, isn’t that great? Maybe you could just have our whole conversation by yourself. Since it seems like you don’t listen to me anyway!”

And very quickly, Spock feels himself growing angry as well. It rises up beneath his skin and makes it hard to hear his thoughts. “I could not let those villagers die,” Spock says. “Compared to the lives of those innocents, my own life was expendable.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” McCoy shouts. “Don’t you dare say that you’re going to throw your life away after all the work it took me to let you keep it. You’re heart _stopped_.” McCoy’s voice breaks. He does not say anything for a long time.

Spock’s chest feels tight. He remembers the last few moments before the explosion happened. He did not want to die then. He did not feel expendable then at all.

He extends an arm. McCoy comes closer. “What, you want some water?” he asks, but as soon as he comes close enough, Spock pulls him in and kisses him.

McCoy growls onto his lips and it becomes desperate. There is something like hunger in the way McCoy splays his fingers across Spock’s jaw and uses the leverage to plunder into Spock’s mouth. He sucks Spock’s lip into his mouth, runs his teeth over the most sensitive part of it and Spock is arching into the touch. He feels alive, and adrenaline is still making a disaster of his thoughts. He finds McCoy’s hips and guides him onto the bed.

“We shouldn’t do this,” McCoy whispers, even though his lips have found Spock’s right ear, are kissing its tip. Spock shivers at this new sensation. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” McCoy tells him.

Spock turns his head and finds McCoy’s lips again, as if there is nothing more important in that moment. There is nothing but the sound of their lips moving against each other, their breathing, and the soft hum of medical instruments. That reminds Spock that they are in sickbay, not in the privacy of one of their quarters. He pulls away from the kiss.

McCoy uses the break to grind his hips down into Spock’s, which creates such a sharp wave of pleasure that Spock nearly forgets his question. “The crew?” Spock asks breathlessly. He can’t stop himself from rocking back into McCoy’s hips, bringing more of that friction.

“Sent them all down to treat the villagers,” McCoy tells him. His hands have found his way under Spock’s sickbay gown and Spock presses himself up against the contact, feels McCoy’s thoughts sliding and intertwining with his own.

Satisfied with this answer, Spock moves his hands down from McCoy’s hips. He cups McCoy’s straining cock through the fabric of his uniform pants and watches in amazement as McCoy throws his head back and moans, rutting forward into Spock’s hand. Spock tries to watch and, at the same time, undo the fastenings on McCoy’s pants.

McCoy’s hands stop him. “Wait, Spock. You’re still weak.”

Spock tries to break free of McCoy’s grasp, but he is insistent. “I mean it, Spock. You stay still, or I’m going to leave right now and just get myself off in my office.”

Spock is temporarily distracted by the image that provides. He lies still, waiting to see what McCoy will do.

“Good boy,” McCoy says in approval and Spock’s cock hardens at the sound. The thin gown he is wearing does little to hide anything, and McCoy smirks. “You like that, don’t you?” He undoes the fastening keeping the gown closed and his smirk widens.

Spock opens his mouth to make a retort, but his voice dies in the back of his throat when McCoy sinks his mouth onto his cock. His immediate reaction is to want to cant up into that wet heat, but McCoy’s hands are on his hips and they keep him firmly on the biobed mattress, giving him very little room for movement. McCoy’s mouth works up and down the length of his cock in an agonizing rhythm that has Spock’s fingers curling into the sheets.

“Leonard,” he moans. He feels that amazing tongue curl over the head of his cock and with that, he comes, his entire body jerking. He is only held in place by McCoy’s hands which are still pinning him down. He feels McCoy swallow around him and then he collapses back against the pillows, feeling like his bones have turned into liquid.

“Fuck, Spock, I need to—”. McCoy’s breathing is harsh and heavy. He kisses Spock with energy bordering on feverish, which Spock tries to return as best as he can. McCoy unzips his pants and then Spock wraps his hand around McCoy’s cock. McCoy fucks into Spock’s fist, the force of it making the biobed rock slightly. Spock is glad that no one is there in sickbay because they would surely hear the grunts and the curses as McCoy is brought closer to his release.

Finally, with a cry, McCoy finishes, completely covering Spock’s hand. They stay close to each other for a moment, catching their breath, and then McCoy moves away for a short while to bring a washcloth to clean them up. He takes special care with Spock’s hand, cleaning every finger gently with a look of extreme focus.

Spock’s entire body feels loose with pleasure in a way that he’s never experienced before. With horror, he realizes that his eyes are sliding shut. He tries to fight it, but McCoy only smiles. “No, Spock, you have to sleep.” He cups his hand over Spock’s cheek and Spock’s breath catches at the sight of his expression. He’s never seen McCoy’s eyes look so soft, and to know that it is for him spreads warmth across his limbs.

“Sleep, Spock,” McCoy whispers, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

With that promise lulling him, Spock lets himself fall asleep.


End file.
